Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > "Be My Detonator."
Chapter One: The Shininess of Sun
31 reviewsIce cream promises, guitar-induced dribbling, and menstruating cherry tomatoes. [*RE-WRITTEN* CHAPTER ONE...PLEASE READ AND REVIEW, GUYS? :D]
5Funny
BEFORE ANYONE READS THIS STORY, WHETHER YOU HAVE BEFORE OR NOT, PLEASE READ THE NOTE AFTER THE FINAL CHAPTER- IT'S REALLY IMPORTANT, AND THE STORY WON'T MAKE SENSE WITHOUT IT.
26/07/2012: Ahoy there, lovelies! Right, so as I said when I finished writing this several months back, I planned to re-write and improve this. I'm gunna do it chapter at a time- some will be almost completely re-written, some will just be tweaked and improved, and I would love it if you guys could start reading it from the start again? Also, if you guys wouldn't mind, could you not read on until I've re-written the next chapter too? Obviously it's up to you, but...yeah :L So...here is the revised version of Chapter One- Enjoy!
Chapter One: The Shininess of Sun
As a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of sunlight. And no, that does not mean I’m some tragic person who thinks they’re a vampire. I dislike the sun because it is a self-satisfied, shiny little motherfucker that stings my eyes and forces me to display uncomfortably large amounts of the weird, pale secret that is my naked body to the world if I want to remain un-melted by heat.
Plus, it means I have to use sunscreen- unless I want to become one giant fucking freckle, and sunscreen always sticks in my hair. Which is pretty annoying, because it’s actually enough of a mess already without white splats of sunscreen decorating it. Although, to be fair, it’s not always sunscreen- there was that rather nasty incident after a school football match in a steamy locker room which ended up with my head looking like one giant piece of bird shit. Not attractive. But I guess that wasn’t exactly the sun’s fault.
It was a very sunny day, though. I really should have taken that as a bad omen.
So, yes- the sun and I are not exactly bosom buddies at the best of times. But today, I am in such a good mood, not even its evil force can spoil things. Today is the first day of the blessed summer vacation.
To celebrate my release from the hell adults seem to believe is ‘education’, I’ve spent the whole day so far doing absolutely nothing, just lying under in the dappled shade of the old oak tree in my back garden and basking in pure freedom. No timetables, no school bells that sound like a call from the darkest pits of hell, no history teachers with mushroom scented mustaches, no school uniform, no angry jocks accusing you of snogging their pants off…Ah, this is the life.
Sadly, the summer holidays aren’t as endless as they feel at the beginning, when it seems as though there’s an eternity of ice cream guzzling, sun-avoiding, laziness and friends stretching out ahead of you. But, to sound uncharacteristically intelligent and philosophical, nothing’s endless, so you might as well make the most of it.
Wow, that really was intelligent. Shock horror.
Why thank you. I’m nearly Shakespeare, aren’t I?
Hmm. Getting a little ahead of yourself there. Maybe J.K Rowling.
Hey, J.K beats Shakespeare any day!
I’m suddenly roused from the peaceful conversation I’m holding with myself when my crotch vibrates rather impatiently. I jump, because yes, I am weird and I like to flip off the sun and people wearing too many colours in my spare moments, but my crotch does not usually take it upon itself to vibrate. Well, apart from that complicated afternoon training as a lifeguard, but I like to pretend that was one of the many moments of my life that never happened.
On further inspection, I discover that I’d left my Nokia 200 on my crotch and it’s it doing the vibrating. Phew.
Sighing slightly, I heave myself up and squint at the smeary screen of my phone, the dazzling sunlight streaming through the lush, leafy green canopy overhead making it difficult to see properly. See- the sun’s vendetta against my life continues.
One new message from: Fro Boy: Oi, Geefreak! Wanna hang out? Meet at mine in five? R xoxo
It’s from Ray Toro, fellow lunatic/social misfit, ‘fro rights supporter, guitar freak/geek and best friend of two years. I still can’t get over the fact that I, Gerard Arthur Way, sixteen year old lunatic, art freak/geek, raging homosexual with a flare for boas, and ridiculously clumsy The Misfits obsessive has a friend- a real friend that isn’t a figment of my messed-up imagination- not that my imagination is messed up enough to want to be my friend, actually.
Then again, Ray’s pretty messed up himself- he likes L’Oreal Shampoo for fucks sake- so perhaps it’s not all that unsurprising we ended up as friends on my first day of Hypocritical Hell High school when I stumbled into first period English, trembling like a crack addict with no crack. I vaguely recall falling over a One Direction bag, a flexi-bend ruler, and my own feet on the way to my assigned seat- which was beside a dude with something scarier than a small Amazonian rainforest stuck to his skull. This was Ray. He gave me a Tom and Jerry band-aid for the cut on my arm caused by the disastrously placed flexi-bend ruler, taught me how to make paper airplane bats to chuck at the teacher, and chucked his jotter at some jock who sniggered at my Green Day hoodie.
I ate my lunchtime alfalfa baguette with him, and we’ve been fast friends ever since. It perhaps doesn’t sound like much of a miracle, but really, when I moved here with my younger, evil genius of a brother when my Mom remarried to an okay but dull guy called Angus, I thought my life would become a living hell. Okay, so living with someone who is a living caricature of dullness, and his daughter- who, I swear to god is descended from Satan- isn’t the best thing in the world, but it’s not the worst either- as long as I avoid Angus’ life-endangering monologues and stay out of Jamie’s wrath.
Stuffing my iPod into my pocket, I quickly text Ray a reply saying I’m on my way, lace up my Converse- because yes, I am one of those clichéd little ‘emo’ teenagers who likes The Misfits and Green Day and likes to wear the uniform- and exit the garden by means of (rather unsuccessfully) vaulting the fence. It may have ripped another hole in my favourite jeans, but it’s the route least likely to cross forces with my evil stepsister, and trust me, that's a fate anyone with sanity would like to avoid.
Um, not that I'm exactly rolling in the sanity myself. But you get my point.
It’s a lot hotter without the dappled shade of the oak tree’s branches; even though I’m wearing shoes, I can feel the heat from the sun scorching off the tarmac of the grimy grey pavement as the sun’s rays burn into my dark clothes, and by the time I’ve reached Ray’s house and knock on the door, I’m sweaty, panting and pink-cheeked from the heat wave. Attractive.
There’s the sound of footsteps on the other side of the doors, a jingle of keys, and then the door swings open to reveal a very summery looking Raymond Toro.
“Hey Gerar- arggh! Oh my god my eyes/[! Arrggh! Ray cries, covering his eyes in distress.
“What’s wrong” I blink, slightly alarmed.
“You’re wearing a [/sleeveless top!” Ray says, still holding one hand protectively over his eyes. “I’ve never seen you expose that much skin! Seriously, has your skin ever been exposed to sunlight before? It’s so fucking white it’s blinding me!”
“Fuck you, Toro- I’d have died if I wasn’t wearing a sleeveless top- it’s so fucking sunny!” I scowl irritably, crossing my arms self-consciously and sticking my nose huffily in the air, because, yes, I am freakishly pale, but I do still have my pride.
“At least it’s black, I guess…and you’re still wearing your jeans- I don’t think I’d have been able to cope with the shock if you’d swapped them for a white vest and shorts.” Ray sniggers, stepping out onto the street and locking the door behind him.
I give him the finger.
“Aww, don’t go all moody on me, Gerardypooh,” Ray pokes my ‘freakishly pale’ shoulder affectionately as we start down the street in the blistering sun. “It’s the summer holidays!” he does a mad, twirl-leap thing in the air and I snort.
“Hey, Ray, ever considered a career as a ballerina?” I smirk nastily.
“Fuck off, vampire.” Ray snaps. “Just because you hate the summer.”
“I do not!” I protest. “It’s just a little too bright sometimes okay? And I’m not a fucking vampire. Do you see me sparkling?”
“You said 'real' vampires don't sparkle, so how would that make sense? And anyway, I'm pretty sure I’ve never seen a human being with skin as white as yours before- seriously, my eyes are burning up just looking at you.”
“Well, I can’t help being so damn hot.” I grin, winking at my puffy-haired friend. “But I didn't know you felt that way about me, Raymond…”
Ray suddenly looks a little nauseas and swallows unhappily. “In your dreams,” he manages weakly, still looking ominously pale at the prospect of finding me attractive. He really is the most-confidence boosting friend one could have.
As a thanks, I elbow him sharply in the ribs.
“Oww!” Ray yelps indignantly, clutching his side.
Most people would think he’s just being a drama queen, but I do actually have scarily pointy elbows. I must remember to put that on my job application for working at Pizza Palace this summer. Things can get violent in there, so perhaps prominent elbow bones would be a bonus.
“Hey, is it okay if we go to the music shop quickly?” Ray asks as we near the small town center. “In need some more guitar picks- Maisie ate all mine again.”
“Ah,” I say knowledgeably. Maisie is Ray’s (deranged) tortoiseshell cat who eats everything. No seriously- everything; I once left my converse at Ray’s house and she ate the stripy laces off them- and another time, she ate Ray’s favourite Iron Maiden CD. Seriously, the cat has problems.
“Thanks,” Ray says gratefully, pawing a butterfly from his ‘fro. It seems to attract them in the summer months. I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps it’s like a nest for them, and in the winter, Ray will find his scalp crawling with cutesy little caterpillars. N'aww. How adorable. Maybe he could name them- Celia and Charlie and...Ooh, Cecil! I've always liked the name Cecil-
"Oi. Palefreak," Ray snaps his fingers in front of my dreamy face, and I startle back to reality. "Can we go to the music shop?" he repeats impatiently.
I sigh. “Fine. But only as long as you promise it really is only five minutes,” I whine, knowing how Ray gets when faced with guitars. Dribbly. And excitable.
Ray rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Squirt.”
“Squirt?” I squeak indignantly.
“Yeah, I think I can call you squirt if I want- I’m at least a foot taller than you.” Ray points out, smirking in a very self-satisfied and irritating way.
“Which is made up of your hair!” I exclaim.
Ray’s triumphant face falls, and huffs irritably as we push open the door to the music shop. The second we’re inside, a wonderfully cool breeze generated from the fan in the corner tickles my skin, and the harsh glare of the sun is shut out as the door clangs shut behind us, announcing our entrance. It’s a wonderfully soothing, cool, dark contrast to the sticky, sweltering heat outside.
“Hey, guys,” the dude behind the counter greets us without looking up from his computer screen. He's around nineteen with strawberry blonde stubble, a lip ring and a nametag which reads 'Bob'. Bob seems to work in the music shop almost twenty four seven, and therefore knows both Ray and I well, as we stop by almost every day after school with my younger sibling, Mikey, to drool over the guitars on display. Never, have I witnessed Bob look away from his computer screen for more than five seconds. When he does, it’s a rare, rare occasion.
Oh, and just to clarify; A unhinged sixteen year old with a very ‘unique view on life’ as my counselor so tactfully put it, I might be- but I do not literally drool over guitars. Neither does my younger sibling.
Ray…Well, that’s a different story.
“Hey, Bob- oh wow! Gee, look at this!” Ray exclaims, suddenly spotting a new addition to the wall of guitars and bass at the back of the shop. Instantly, its glossy paint and untouched strings reel him in, as he starts petting it lovingly.
“Cool,” I say nonchalantly, not really bothered. I mean, it’s a pretty guitar and all, but…It’s just a guitar. But really, I have better things to use my saliva on.
Ray, however, stays gazing lovingly at it and running his fingers over the strings for at least ten minutes, all gooey eyed, while Bob just shakes his head at him- knowing, without even a glance away from his computer screen just what Ray is doing.
“C’mon Frobottom, get the picks already- I want my ice cream!” I prod him impatiently, restraining the urge to yank him from the shop by his curly hair.
“Shouldn’t you guys still be in lessons?” Bob asks monotonously, typing feverishly. “It’s only, like, two in the afternoon.”
“First day of the summer holidays.” I grin, lounging across the counter and savoring the word on my tongue, the five syllables as sweet as cookie dough ice cream.
“Lucky.” Bob sighs. “I’ve got another three weeks to go until my week off.”
Fleetingly, I wonder what Bob does on his days off. I can’t picture him without the computer. Perhaps he is surgically attached to it and takes it everywhere, like one of those little egg babies they give people who want to become parents.
“That sucks,” I sympathize. “Want me to bring you an ice cream?”
“Food’s not allowed in the shop.” Bob says glumly. “Especially if you’re carrying it- you’ll accidentally let it melt over one of the keyboards or drop it and tread it into the carpet or somehow catapult it through the air and the cone will destroy all the acoustic guitars.”
“Hey!” I say in mock offence, but I get his point. The last example may be a little far fetched, but I’m not exactly the most coordinated person in the world, as I’m sure he’s well aware after the sticky incident last week, involving Ray’s schoolbag, a new bass guitar, a jumbo pack of strawberry bubblegum, and my undone shoelaces. It wasn't pretty.
“Exactly,” Bob says, because now he can read minds as well as stare at a screen for five whole minutes and not blink. Yes, I counted. Yes, I have no life. Problem?
“Oi, Ray, if you stare at that guitar anymore, it’ll fade away!” I call impatiently. “Hurry the fuck up!” I pick up the box of plectrums on the counter and rifle through them out of boredom.
I hear the door clang open, and Bob peels his eyes from the computer screen for a quarter of a second. I carry on searching through the picks.
“Hey, Ray! How about this one?” I chuck a pink Barbie one at his head.
“Stop chucking picks about the place, Gerard!” Bob says crossly.
I sigh and go back to the box of picks, trying to find a couple of suitable ones to buy for Ray before hauling him, ‘fro first, from the shop so as all the ice cream hasn’t sold out by the time we reach the park.
“Hey, could I have a look at the picks please?” a soft, husky voice just behind me says, warm, smoky scented breath tickling the back of my bare neck.
I jump, whirl round, and the box of plectrums flies wildly from my hands and spectacularly into the air before plummeting to the floor, showering me, Bob, and possibly the most insanely gorgeous guy I've seen in my entire fucking life with assorted plectrums.
There's a long silence as the picks rain down on the shop and I rather want to bolt from the shop and lay down on the road, preferably in the path of oncoming double-decker busses.
“Gerard,” Bob sighs, puling a purple pick out of his hair and breaking the silence tiredly. “When I said stop chucking picks about the place, I didn’t mean upend the box over prospective customers.”
“S-sorry,” I stutter, eyes glued to the guy I just unintentionally attacked with several hundred plastic plectrums. He is gorgeous. As in GORGEROUS. Life destroyingly, cock-meltingly, brain-explodingly gorgeous
And of course, my cheeks have kindly taken it upon themselves to burn redder than a menstruating cherry tomato and humiliate me further still, because really, in case it wasn’t already obvious, he is, without the tiniest shred of doubt, the most incredibly hot guy I've ever set eyes on in my entire, uncoordinated life. And I have just showered him in small, plastic objects like the suave, sexy guy I am.
Oh, how I love my life at moments like these.
Sarcasm?
Oh, how did you guess?
Because I can read your mind.
…How?
Because I am your mind, you homosexual dingbat.
Oh joy.
“Are you quite alright?” The voice of the life-destroyingly-cock-meltingly-brain-explodingly gorgeous guy breaks through my inner argument. His eyes are twinkling slightly as though he’s amused, a mischievous mingle of russet and deep jade with dewy lids and spiky lashes. They’re utterly captivating and seductive, rimmed with blood red eyeliner. They have also destroyed my kneecaps.
“Nich. Yes, thank you,” I reply breathlessly, holding onto Bob’s computer monitor to keep myself upright, as I take in this life-destroyingly-cock-meltingly-brain-explodingly gorgeous guy’s appearance. He has flawless ivory skin, a silver ring pierced through the left side of his lower lip, a kind of scruffily deflated mini-Mohican that really, should not make me want to do illegal things with my tongue, but really, really does. He’s about my height, but he must be at least eighteen, and he’s wearing ripped, faded black skinnies, a studded belt, black, scuffed doc martens and a sleeveless black flag top with sunglasses hooked onto the neckline. The black fabric of the t-shirt is adorned with safety pins, and the lack of sleeves shows off a few tattoos on the smooth, tanned skin of his left arm.
I cling harder to the computer monitor and gulp. My knees are melting faster than one of my favourite cookie dough ice creams in the midday sun.
And, um, I’ve kind of been staring unblinkingly at him in awe for like, five whole minutes and my mouth is probably hanging open. Or I’m drooling. Or both.
Oh flying meese, this is not good.
“Unnuh…I..uh..ummm..I…” I blush furiously, hiding behind my hair and wishing for a quick, painless death- and preferably one that makes me look very brave and sexy and heroic before this Sex God of a guy so that his last impression- and first, come to think of it- isn’t of a bright red, stammering imbecile.
Bob removes my hand from his precious computer monitor with a small growl.
“Hey there,” the Sex God grins at me, holding out his hand. “I’m Frank Iero.”
“G-Gerard-uh-Way.” I breathe, blushing even more furiously as I extend my own hand tentatively and grasp his outstretched one shyly. His hand is warm and smooth, but with guitar player’s calluses, and goosebumps are suddenly erupting all over me, tingling my fingertips and causing my stomach to perform a weird, twirly maneuver I thought only ballerinas or Ray could pull off.
“Nice to meet you, Gerard.” Frank grins, eyes twinkling as he tucks a strand of dyed-black hair behind his ear and surveys me more closely.
“Umeiiif…Y-you too.” I stutter, cursing my evil, sadistic brain that seems determined to make my life hell and wishing Ray’s ‘fro could just swallow me up before I actually die of embarrassment.
Frank just carries on smiling at me, his greeny-russet eyes twinkling, and I can’t take it anymore. I reach out behind me, grab the back of Ray’s t-shirt and attempt to sprint, chicken-style, from the shop, hauling him along behind me.
When I say ‘chicken-style’, I mean in a cowardly sense, not a farm-fowl-laying-eggs sense. Obviously.
Unfortunately, my already not-so-smooth exit is rather nastily marred by the fact I fail to see the stand of music books by the door, and crash headlong into it, scattering Grade 4 piano books everywhere as Ray and I collide to the floor in a humiliating Gerard-‘Fro-music book pretzel.
I pray to god for the piano books to suddenly become cannibalistic and chomp me into oblivion. Wait…cannibalistic would just mean that they eat each other, wouldn’t it? Oops. Hurriedly, I pray to god again for the piano books to become miniature black holes and suck me into the pits of hell, because really, compared to this, how hellish can they be?
If there is a god, he must have one fucked-up sense of humor, though, because all that happens is that the remainder of the books that had been balancing precariously on the top of the stand, come crashing down to hit me on the head- and they don't even have the god damn courtesy to knock me out.
I should have known the amount of sun today was a bad omen.
……
Ahaaha, I have to say, I really enjoyed writing that xD I've missed this story! :L Is that sad? Probably...Anyway, I'd love to know what you guys thought, as this is pretty different to the original version. Reviews would actually make my day *looks hopeful* xD Was this changed version okay? I'll try and post the next re-written chapter within a week (: Thanks so much for reading...Feedback? :D
Lucy X_O
26/07/2012: Ahoy there, lovelies! Right, so as I said when I finished writing this several months back, I planned to re-write and improve this. I'm gunna do it chapter at a time- some will be almost completely re-written, some will just be tweaked and improved, and I would love it if you guys could start reading it from the start again? Also, if you guys wouldn't mind, could you not read on until I've re-written the next chapter too? Obviously it's up to you, but...yeah :L So...here is the revised version of Chapter One- Enjoy!
Chapter One: The Shininess of Sun
As a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of sunlight. And no, that does not mean I’m some tragic person who thinks they’re a vampire. I dislike the sun because it is a self-satisfied, shiny little motherfucker that stings my eyes and forces me to display uncomfortably large amounts of the weird, pale secret that is my naked body to the world if I want to remain un-melted by heat.
Plus, it means I have to use sunscreen- unless I want to become one giant fucking freckle, and sunscreen always sticks in my hair. Which is pretty annoying, because it’s actually enough of a mess already without white splats of sunscreen decorating it. Although, to be fair, it’s not always sunscreen- there was that rather nasty incident after a school football match in a steamy locker room which ended up with my head looking like one giant piece of bird shit. Not attractive. But I guess that wasn’t exactly the sun’s fault.
It was a very sunny day, though. I really should have taken that as a bad omen.
So, yes- the sun and I are not exactly bosom buddies at the best of times. But today, I am in such a good mood, not even its evil force can spoil things. Today is the first day of the blessed summer vacation.
To celebrate my release from the hell adults seem to believe is ‘education’, I’ve spent the whole day so far doing absolutely nothing, just lying under in the dappled shade of the old oak tree in my back garden and basking in pure freedom. No timetables, no school bells that sound like a call from the darkest pits of hell, no history teachers with mushroom scented mustaches, no school uniform, no angry jocks accusing you of snogging their pants off…Ah, this is the life.
Sadly, the summer holidays aren’t as endless as they feel at the beginning, when it seems as though there’s an eternity of ice cream guzzling, sun-avoiding, laziness and friends stretching out ahead of you. But, to sound uncharacteristically intelligent and philosophical, nothing’s endless, so you might as well make the most of it.
Wow, that really was intelligent. Shock horror.
Why thank you. I’m nearly Shakespeare, aren’t I?
Hmm. Getting a little ahead of yourself there. Maybe J.K Rowling.
Hey, J.K beats Shakespeare any day!
I’m suddenly roused from the peaceful conversation I’m holding with myself when my crotch vibrates rather impatiently. I jump, because yes, I am weird and I like to flip off the sun and people wearing too many colours in my spare moments, but my crotch does not usually take it upon itself to vibrate. Well, apart from that complicated afternoon training as a lifeguard, but I like to pretend that was one of the many moments of my life that never happened.
On further inspection, I discover that I’d left my Nokia 200 on my crotch and it’s it doing the vibrating. Phew.
Sighing slightly, I heave myself up and squint at the smeary screen of my phone, the dazzling sunlight streaming through the lush, leafy green canopy overhead making it difficult to see properly. See- the sun’s vendetta against my life continues.
One new message from: Fro Boy: Oi, Geefreak! Wanna hang out? Meet at mine in five? R xoxo
It’s from Ray Toro, fellow lunatic/social misfit, ‘fro rights supporter, guitar freak/geek and best friend of two years. I still can’t get over the fact that I, Gerard Arthur Way, sixteen year old lunatic, art freak/geek, raging homosexual with a flare for boas, and ridiculously clumsy The Misfits obsessive has a friend- a real friend that isn’t a figment of my messed-up imagination- not that my imagination is messed up enough to want to be my friend, actually.
Then again, Ray’s pretty messed up himself- he likes L’Oreal Shampoo for fucks sake- so perhaps it’s not all that unsurprising we ended up as friends on my first day of Hypocritical Hell High school when I stumbled into first period English, trembling like a crack addict with no crack. I vaguely recall falling over a One Direction bag, a flexi-bend ruler, and my own feet on the way to my assigned seat- which was beside a dude with something scarier than a small Amazonian rainforest stuck to his skull. This was Ray. He gave me a Tom and Jerry band-aid for the cut on my arm caused by the disastrously placed flexi-bend ruler, taught me how to make paper airplane bats to chuck at the teacher, and chucked his jotter at some jock who sniggered at my Green Day hoodie.
I ate my lunchtime alfalfa baguette with him, and we’ve been fast friends ever since. It perhaps doesn’t sound like much of a miracle, but really, when I moved here with my younger, evil genius of a brother when my Mom remarried to an okay but dull guy called Angus, I thought my life would become a living hell. Okay, so living with someone who is a living caricature of dullness, and his daughter- who, I swear to god is descended from Satan- isn’t the best thing in the world, but it’s not the worst either- as long as I avoid Angus’ life-endangering monologues and stay out of Jamie’s wrath.
Stuffing my iPod into my pocket, I quickly text Ray a reply saying I’m on my way, lace up my Converse- because yes, I am one of those clichéd little ‘emo’ teenagers who likes The Misfits and Green Day and likes to wear the uniform- and exit the garden by means of (rather unsuccessfully) vaulting the fence. It may have ripped another hole in my favourite jeans, but it’s the route least likely to cross forces with my evil stepsister, and trust me, that's a fate anyone with sanity would like to avoid.
Um, not that I'm exactly rolling in the sanity myself. But you get my point.
It’s a lot hotter without the dappled shade of the oak tree’s branches; even though I’m wearing shoes, I can feel the heat from the sun scorching off the tarmac of the grimy grey pavement as the sun’s rays burn into my dark clothes, and by the time I’ve reached Ray’s house and knock on the door, I’m sweaty, panting and pink-cheeked from the heat wave. Attractive.
There’s the sound of footsteps on the other side of the doors, a jingle of keys, and then the door swings open to reveal a very summery looking Raymond Toro.
“Hey Gerar- arggh! Oh my god my eyes/[! Arrggh! Ray cries, covering his eyes in distress.
“What’s wrong” I blink, slightly alarmed.
“You’re wearing a [/sleeveless top!” Ray says, still holding one hand protectively over his eyes. “I’ve never seen you expose that much skin! Seriously, has your skin ever been exposed to sunlight before? It’s so fucking white it’s blinding me!”
“Fuck you, Toro- I’d have died if I wasn’t wearing a sleeveless top- it’s so fucking sunny!” I scowl irritably, crossing my arms self-consciously and sticking my nose huffily in the air, because, yes, I am freakishly pale, but I do still have my pride.
“At least it’s black, I guess…and you’re still wearing your jeans- I don’t think I’d have been able to cope with the shock if you’d swapped them for a white vest and shorts.” Ray sniggers, stepping out onto the street and locking the door behind him.
I give him the finger.
“Aww, don’t go all moody on me, Gerardypooh,” Ray pokes my ‘freakishly pale’ shoulder affectionately as we start down the street in the blistering sun. “It’s the summer holidays!” he does a mad, twirl-leap thing in the air and I snort.
“Hey, Ray, ever considered a career as a ballerina?” I smirk nastily.
“Fuck off, vampire.” Ray snaps. “Just because you hate the summer.”
“I do not!” I protest. “It’s just a little too bright sometimes okay? And I’m not a fucking vampire. Do you see me sparkling?”
“You said 'real' vampires don't sparkle, so how would that make sense? And anyway, I'm pretty sure I’ve never seen a human being with skin as white as yours before- seriously, my eyes are burning up just looking at you.”
“Well, I can’t help being so damn hot.” I grin, winking at my puffy-haired friend. “But I didn't know you felt that way about me, Raymond…”
Ray suddenly looks a little nauseas and swallows unhappily. “In your dreams,” he manages weakly, still looking ominously pale at the prospect of finding me attractive. He really is the most-confidence boosting friend one could have.
As a thanks, I elbow him sharply in the ribs.
“Oww!” Ray yelps indignantly, clutching his side.
Most people would think he’s just being a drama queen, but I do actually have scarily pointy elbows. I must remember to put that on my job application for working at Pizza Palace this summer. Things can get violent in there, so perhaps prominent elbow bones would be a bonus.
“Hey, is it okay if we go to the music shop quickly?” Ray asks as we near the small town center. “In need some more guitar picks- Maisie ate all mine again.”
“Ah,” I say knowledgeably. Maisie is Ray’s (deranged) tortoiseshell cat who eats everything. No seriously- everything; I once left my converse at Ray’s house and she ate the stripy laces off them- and another time, she ate Ray’s favourite Iron Maiden CD. Seriously, the cat has problems.
“Thanks,” Ray says gratefully, pawing a butterfly from his ‘fro. It seems to attract them in the summer months. I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps it’s like a nest for them, and in the winter, Ray will find his scalp crawling with cutesy little caterpillars. N'aww. How adorable. Maybe he could name them- Celia and Charlie and...Ooh, Cecil! I've always liked the name Cecil-
"Oi. Palefreak," Ray snaps his fingers in front of my dreamy face, and I startle back to reality. "Can we go to the music shop?" he repeats impatiently.
I sigh. “Fine. But only as long as you promise it really is only five minutes,” I whine, knowing how Ray gets when faced with guitars. Dribbly. And excitable.
Ray rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Squirt.”
“Squirt?” I squeak indignantly.
“Yeah, I think I can call you squirt if I want- I’m at least a foot taller than you.” Ray points out, smirking in a very self-satisfied and irritating way.
“Which is made up of your hair!” I exclaim.
Ray’s triumphant face falls, and huffs irritably as we push open the door to the music shop. The second we’re inside, a wonderfully cool breeze generated from the fan in the corner tickles my skin, and the harsh glare of the sun is shut out as the door clangs shut behind us, announcing our entrance. It’s a wonderfully soothing, cool, dark contrast to the sticky, sweltering heat outside.
“Hey, guys,” the dude behind the counter greets us without looking up from his computer screen. He's around nineteen with strawberry blonde stubble, a lip ring and a nametag which reads 'Bob'. Bob seems to work in the music shop almost twenty four seven, and therefore knows both Ray and I well, as we stop by almost every day after school with my younger sibling, Mikey, to drool over the guitars on display. Never, have I witnessed Bob look away from his computer screen for more than five seconds. When he does, it’s a rare, rare occasion.
Oh, and just to clarify; A unhinged sixteen year old with a very ‘unique view on life’ as my counselor so tactfully put it, I might be- but I do not literally drool over guitars. Neither does my younger sibling.
Ray…Well, that’s a different story.
“Hey, Bob- oh wow! Gee, look at this!” Ray exclaims, suddenly spotting a new addition to the wall of guitars and bass at the back of the shop. Instantly, its glossy paint and untouched strings reel him in, as he starts petting it lovingly.
“Cool,” I say nonchalantly, not really bothered. I mean, it’s a pretty guitar and all, but…It’s just a guitar. But really, I have better things to use my saliva on.
Ray, however, stays gazing lovingly at it and running his fingers over the strings for at least ten minutes, all gooey eyed, while Bob just shakes his head at him- knowing, without even a glance away from his computer screen just what Ray is doing.
“C’mon Frobottom, get the picks already- I want my ice cream!” I prod him impatiently, restraining the urge to yank him from the shop by his curly hair.
“Shouldn’t you guys still be in lessons?” Bob asks monotonously, typing feverishly. “It’s only, like, two in the afternoon.”
“First day of the summer holidays.” I grin, lounging across the counter and savoring the word on my tongue, the five syllables as sweet as cookie dough ice cream.
“Lucky.” Bob sighs. “I’ve got another three weeks to go until my week off.”
Fleetingly, I wonder what Bob does on his days off. I can’t picture him without the computer. Perhaps he is surgically attached to it and takes it everywhere, like one of those little egg babies they give people who want to become parents.
“That sucks,” I sympathize. “Want me to bring you an ice cream?”
“Food’s not allowed in the shop.” Bob says glumly. “Especially if you’re carrying it- you’ll accidentally let it melt over one of the keyboards or drop it and tread it into the carpet or somehow catapult it through the air and the cone will destroy all the acoustic guitars.”
“Hey!” I say in mock offence, but I get his point. The last example may be a little far fetched, but I’m not exactly the most coordinated person in the world, as I’m sure he’s well aware after the sticky incident last week, involving Ray’s schoolbag, a new bass guitar, a jumbo pack of strawberry bubblegum, and my undone shoelaces. It wasn't pretty.
“Exactly,” Bob says, because now he can read minds as well as stare at a screen for five whole minutes and not blink. Yes, I counted. Yes, I have no life. Problem?
“Oi, Ray, if you stare at that guitar anymore, it’ll fade away!” I call impatiently. “Hurry the fuck up!” I pick up the box of plectrums on the counter and rifle through them out of boredom.
I hear the door clang open, and Bob peels his eyes from the computer screen for a quarter of a second. I carry on searching through the picks.
“Hey, Ray! How about this one?” I chuck a pink Barbie one at his head.
“Stop chucking picks about the place, Gerard!” Bob says crossly.
I sigh and go back to the box of picks, trying to find a couple of suitable ones to buy for Ray before hauling him, ‘fro first, from the shop so as all the ice cream hasn’t sold out by the time we reach the park.
“Hey, could I have a look at the picks please?” a soft, husky voice just behind me says, warm, smoky scented breath tickling the back of my bare neck.
I jump, whirl round, and the box of plectrums flies wildly from my hands and spectacularly into the air before plummeting to the floor, showering me, Bob, and possibly the most insanely gorgeous guy I've seen in my entire fucking life with assorted plectrums.
There's a long silence as the picks rain down on the shop and I rather want to bolt from the shop and lay down on the road, preferably in the path of oncoming double-decker busses.
“Gerard,” Bob sighs, puling a purple pick out of his hair and breaking the silence tiredly. “When I said stop chucking picks about the place, I didn’t mean upend the box over prospective customers.”
“S-sorry,” I stutter, eyes glued to the guy I just unintentionally attacked with several hundred plastic plectrums. He is gorgeous. As in GORGEROUS. Life destroyingly, cock-meltingly, brain-explodingly gorgeous
And of course, my cheeks have kindly taken it upon themselves to burn redder than a menstruating cherry tomato and humiliate me further still, because really, in case it wasn’t already obvious, he is, without the tiniest shred of doubt, the most incredibly hot guy I've ever set eyes on in my entire, uncoordinated life. And I have just showered him in small, plastic objects like the suave, sexy guy I am.
Oh, how I love my life at moments like these.
Sarcasm?
Oh, how did you guess?
Because I can read your mind.
…How?
Because I am your mind, you homosexual dingbat.
Oh joy.
“Are you quite alright?” The voice of the life-destroyingly-cock-meltingly-brain-explodingly gorgeous guy breaks through my inner argument. His eyes are twinkling slightly as though he’s amused, a mischievous mingle of russet and deep jade with dewy lids and spiky lashes. They’re utterly captivating and seductive, rimmed with blood red eyeliner. They have also destroyed my kneecaps.
“Nich. Yes, thank you,” I reply breathlessly, holding onto Bob’s computer monitor to keep myself upright, as I take in this life-destroyingly-cock-meltingly-brain-explodingly gorgeous guy’s appearance. He has flawless ivory skin, a silver ring pierced through the left side of his lower lip, a kind of scruffily deflated mini-Mohican that really, should not make me want to do illegal things with my tongue, but really, really does. He’s about my height, but he must be at least eighteen, and he’s wearing ripped, faded black skinnies, a studded belt, black, scuffed doc martens and a sleeveless black flag top with sunglasses hooked onto the neckline. The black fabric of the t-shirt is adorned with safety pins, and the lack of sleeves shows off a few tattoos on the smooth, tanned skin of his left arm.
I cling harder to the computer monitor and gulp. My knees are melting faster than one of my favourite cookie dough ice creams in the midday sun.
And, um, I’ve kind of been staring unblinkingly at him in awe for like, five whole minutes and my mouth is probably hanging open. Or I’m drooling. Or both.
Oh flying meese, this is not good.
“Unnuh…I..uh..ummm..I…” I blush furiously, hiding behind my hair and wishing for a quick, painless death- and preferably one that makes me look very brave and sexy and heroic before this Sex God of a guy so that his last impression- and first, come to think of it- isn’t of a bright red, stammering imbecile.
Bob removes my hand from his precious computer monitor with a small growl.
“Hey there,” the Sex God grins at me, holding out his hand. “I’m Frank Iero.”
“G-Gerard-uh-Way.” I breathe, blushing even more furiously as I extend my own hand tentatively and grasp his outstretched one shyly. His hand is warm and smooth, but with guitar player’s calluses, and goosebumps are suddenly erupting all over me, tingling my fingertips and causing my stomach to perform a weird, twirly maneuver I thought only ballerinas or Ray could pull off.
“Nice to meet you, Gerard.” Frank grins, eyes twinkling as he tucks a strand of dyed-black hair behind his ear and surveys me more closely.
“Umeiiif…Y-you too.” I stutter, cursing my evil, sadistic brain that seems determined to make my life hell and wishing Ray’s ‘fro could just swallow me up before I actually die of embarrassment.
Frank just carries on smiling at me, his greeny-russet eyes twinkling, and I can’t take it anymore. I reach out behind me, grab the back of Ray’s t-shirt and attempt to sprint, chicken-style, from the shop, hauling him along behind me.
When I say ‘chicken-style’, I mean in a cowardly sense, not a farm-fowl-laying-eggs sense. Obviously.
Unfortunately, my already not-so-smooth exit is rather nastily marred by the fact I fail to see the stand of music books by the door, and crash headlong into it, scattering Grade 4 piano books everywhere as Ray and I collide to the floor in a humiliating Gerard-‘Fro-music book pretzel.
I pray to god for the piano books to suddenly become cannibalistic and chomp me into oblivion. Wait…cannibalistic would just mean that they eat each other, wouldn’t it? Oops. Hurriedly, I pray to god again for the piano books to become miniature black holes and suck me into the pits of hell, because really, compared to this, how hellish can they be?
If there is a god, he must have one fucked-up sense of humor, though, because all that happens is that the remainder of the books that had been balancing precariously on the top of the stand, come crashing down to hit me on the head- and they don't even have the god damn courtesy to knock me out.
I should have known the amount of sun today was a bad omen.
……
Ahaaha, I have to say, I really enjoyed writing that xD I've missed this story! :L Is that sad? Probably...Anyway, I'd love to know what you guys thought, as this is pretty different to the original version. Reviews would actually make my day *looks hopeful* xD Was this changed version okay? I'll try and post the next re-written chapter within a week (: Thanks so much for reading...Feedback? :D
Lucy X_O
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